


If the Pants Fit

by thundercaya



Series: The Workplace Warzone [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercaya/pseuds/thundercaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the numbers aren't to his advantage does Madison stand a chance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Pants Fit

**Author's Note:**

> I guess here is as good a place as any to mention that I imagine Madison looking like Oak, but a tiny version. A Sapling, if you will.

Madison trudged his way toward his office, a coffee in his hand and a paper bag with a bagel in it tucked under his arm. He wished he could just eat breakfast at home, but his stomach was never ready to receive food this early. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of Hamilton walking with a man he'd never seen before. Tired as he was, Madison did not glance away fast enough to avoid making eye contact. Hamilton's gaze moved from Madison's eyes first to his coffee and then the bag under his arm, face blooming into a grin that was downright diabolical. Hamilton nudged his friend and nodded towards Madison. The friend looked over and smiled. No. Oh no. Madison couldn't talk to--much less _meet_ \--anyone with his blood sugar barely there and no caffeine in his brain, and Hamilton _knew_ that. Hamilton and the friend approached. _Run_ , Madison's brain insisted, but even if he didn't understand that the suggestion was ridiculous, he was frozen in place.

"Mr. Madison," Hamilton greeted. "Good morning. This is my old friend, Hercules Mulligan." Oh, that guy. "Herc, this is James Madison, representative from Virginia."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Madison," Mulligan said. His smile seemed genuine and he was well put together, but he still struck Madison as the type of dudebro who stole people's girlfriends and made "your mom" jokes. And were those little rainbow lightning bolts on his tie? A hand was coming toward him now and--oh, right. A handshake. Madison shifted his coffee into his left hand freeing up his right for the shake, but he coughed right into it instead. No handshake, then. He cleared his throat, but Mulligan didn't wait for an apology.

"Hey, no worries, Mr. Madison," Mulligan said, clapping him on the shoulder so hard his whole body jolted and a tiny splash of coffee jumped out of the drinking hole in the lid. He barely registered the small burning spot on the rim of his hand, more focused on the fact that he hadn't _said anything yet_. "I've heard a lot about you," Mulligan added.

That was as good a time as any to get a few words out. Madison nodded. "I heard you're a pants fitter."

Mulligan furrowed his brow, mouth still pulled into a smile. "Uh... what was that?"

Madison frowned, not sure how he'd manage to go astray there. He tried again. "Measure the pants," he said, pulling his hands apart. He made a cutting motion with his fingers. "Snip snip." Next he moved his wrist up and down, half-miming the act of sewing because his other hand was still occupied with his coffee. "Pants fit." He glanced at Hamilton who was shaking with his hand plastered over his mouth, eyes brimming with tears from the effort of suppressing his mirth. Madison took a deep breath. "A tailor," he said, finally. "I know words, I swear."

Mulligan chuckled and clapped Madison's shoulder again. It would probably bruise. "You're all right, Mr. Madison." He turned to Hamilton who just barely choked down his laughter. "We should get going, shouldn't we, Alex?"

"Yes," Hamilton said. "Mr. Madison, have a lovely day." Madison stayed in place until they were gone. Great. Now he'd have to spend the whole morning assuring himself that he didn't care about this guy's opinion of him anyway.

 

An email from Hamilton came up on Madison's screen. For a moment he considered not opening it, but maybe it was important. He clicked it, revealing the body of the email. 

_Snip snip._

"God dammit." Who could have foreseen that it would come to this? Now he'd have to quit his job, sell his house, and move to another country. Preferably one with a lot of earthquakes where he could make his new home right on top of a fault line. Or he could just... slide under his desk... and not come out.

Madison's phone buzzed and for a moment he worried that Hamilton had saved his number from back when they had been on better terms. Deciding that was unlikely, he checked and was rewarded with a text from Jefferson asking if he'd like to have lunch.

 _Yes_. he sent back. _Please._  


 

When Madison arrived at the diner that Jefferson had selected, the man was already seated. Spotting him, Jefferson stood with a grin to greet him. Madison wanted nothing more than to burrow inside of Jefferson's jacket and press his face against his chest, a much preferable hiding place to under his desk, but this being neither the time nor place, he had to content himself with shaking the man's hand.

When they were seated, Madison took a big drink of his water, his signal that if Jefferson wanted to have a conversation he would have to start it himself.

"So did you meet Hamilton's friend?" Jefferson asked.

Shit. Madison should have guided the conversation after all. Now he'd have to establish immediately that he didn't think much of this Mulligan guy in case Jefferson had already heard the story.

"You mean the one that smells like a horse?" Madison muttered behind his glass.

Jefferson furrowed his brow. "What?"

Madison glanced up at Jefferson. "Hm?"

"What did you say?"

"I said he smells like a horse."

"Oh!" Jefferson said. "That makes more sense. I thought-- Well, never mind."

"No," Madison said. "What did you think I said?"

"Uh. I thought you said 'hung like a horse.'"

"Oh. Hm. How would I know that?"

"I don't know," Jefferson defended. "That's why I was confused."

"I suppose it's not outside the realm of possibility that he would flash me."

"See, then I'd have to kill him."

"I might need you to do that anyway," Madison said. "And Hamilton, too, while you're at it. I embarrassed myself in front of them."

"James, you never do anything embarrassing."

"Look, just because you think everything I do is endearing--"

Jefferson put his hand on his chest in mock offense. "Are you saying I have bad taste?"

"I'm saying, Thomas, that no one else has taste like yours."

"So what did you do?" Jefferson asked.

"Something endearing, apparently," Madison said. "I'll tell you, but not while we're in public. I'll head over to your place tonight, if that's all right."

"Does it have anything to do with this email Hamilton sent me?" Jefferson asked, bringing it up on his phone. He turned the screen towards Madison.

_Secretary Jefferson, I need your help. Can you please ask Mr. Madison what you call the guy who makes the pants fit?_

"When I go to your place tonight," Madison said, "I'm never leaving again."

Jefferson grinned. "Honestly, that's fine by me."


End file.
